ABSTRACT
It was Genroku 8th year (1695). O'Iwa, a girl of twelve years, could understand what came to her ears. In dealing with each other the Nipponese are very exact and exacting. The New Year must start with a clean balance sheet for the tradesman—all bills paid and collected. The last night of the dying year, and its last few hours; this time is the busiest and most anxious. Zensuké, the bantō (clerk) of the Shimaya dry goods shop, accompanied by one Jugorō, was passing the Shiba Kiridōshi. It was the hour of the tiger (3 A.M.). Of the two, Jugorō was the fighting man. Jurōzaemon of the Shimaya had provided him with a short sword and sent him as guard to Zensuké, who would have more than three hundred ryō in gold. Said Jugorō— “Bantō San, whither now? The hour is late.”— “It is never late on the ōmisoka (31st of the 12th month)”, replied Zensuké tersely. “However, there remains but one account to collect; at Nishikubo. We will hasten.”— “Go on ahead,” said Jugorō. “A moment here for a necessity.” Thus the two men became separated by nearly a chō (100 yards). The district was one of yashiki and temples. The white walls of the former blended with the white carpet of snow on the ground. At any hour it was no busy place; now it was desolate. The high banks of the cutting crowned by woods and approached through the trees, made it an ideal place for a hold-up. Zensuké hesitated. He slowed his pace to allow his companion to join him. He thought he saw something move in the darkness close by. From behind a tree just before him came a samurai. Two others followed this man from the shadows. The heads of all three men were covered by zukin (hoods). They wore vizors. “Wait!” Zensuké stopped in fright. “What suspicious rascal is this, travelling the quarter at this hour? Probably some clerk making off with his master's funds. Come now! Give them into better keeping. Low fellow! You are fairly trapped”. Zensuké began to retreat, but two of the men were now behind him. He began to shout for Jugorō. The latter came up at a run— “Honoured Sirs! This is the Bantō San of the Shimaya of Honjō Itchōme. He is collecting the house bills. Deign not to disturb him”. — “Shut up!” was the reply of the leader. “Another fellow of the same kidney. Look to him.” Roughly he thrust his hand into Zensuké's bosom and began to hustle and fumble the clerk. When Jugorō would interfere the two other men prevented him. With fright he saw the money belt of the Bantō dangling from the man's hand. The nature of the affair was plain. “Heigh! Jokes don't go, honoured sirs. We are not suspicious fellows. Condescend to pardon us.” As he spoke he took advantage of the negligence of his opponents, their interest in the struggle of Zensuké and their leader, to wrench himself free. At once his sword was out. Jugorō was of no mean skill. None of his wardsmen could face him. One man received severe wounds in scalp and face. The other lost part of his hand. But Jugorō was no match for the odds of two trained soldiers. He was soon cut down. Meanwhile Zensuké was shouting lustily for aid. At this period there was a guard called the tsujiban (cross-roads watch). It was mostly composed of oldish men not fit for active service. Such regulations as there were they observed. These were very severe; but, as with the present day police, kept them to their post. They rarely troubled themselves to patrol their district. From these men there could be little hope of aid. Just then, however, the train of some lord came in sight. With one hand the leader held Zensuké by the bosom of his robe. The hand holding the money belt was already thrust in his own bosom. In a moment it would be free. Then Zensuké would go in company with Jugorō to the Yellow Fountain (in Hell). His captor gave a startled cry. “The train of Geishū Sama! Lose no time!” As he wrenched himself away Zensuké sank his teeth deep into the man's hand. With a howl of pain the fellow made off, exchanging a little finger for the three hundred and twenty-five ryō in Zensuké's dōmaki.
